


In a Helpless Position or a Difficult Situation

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Denial, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24993136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Aziraphale believes he may have found a loophole in Heaven's oversight.-Filled for a kink meme prompt locatedhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 169
Collections: IK Shenanigans





	In a Helpless Position or a Difficult Situation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Langerhan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Langerhan/gifts).



London, May 1797

 _I'll do it at the corner,_ Aziraphale thought decisively. He had been equally decisive at the last three corners, however, and he was beginning to lose all hope for this one.

Honestly, it had started out so well, too. It was the first time he had seen Crowley since that business over in France, and when the demon had proposed a midnight walk (“Y'know, angel, I was just on my way over to Shoreditch, maybe seeing about some wickedness at that new pub they're all talking about. Care to come and thwart?”), it had seemed like the ideal opportunity for the plan he had had in mind since, oh, well.

Quite some time now.

Aziraphale was already mourning the lost opportunity –warm night, no people in that stretch of the alley, no real nastiness from above or below – when Crowley turned to him with that peculiarly soft expression he wore sometimes.

“– and not that I'm proposing anything, you know, _untoward,_ far from it, but it does occur to me that I have some business to be getting around to in Brighton at the turn of the year, and if you cared to visit that bookseller you like in Hove ...”

And there it was, that not-really-an-invitation that so troubled Aziraphale's rest sometimes, combined with a wistfulness he couldn't quite bear to look at, along with a dare that pricked at his pride. He said yes one time in four, but the other three times, he always wondered if Crowley considered him a coward, because it was certainly something that had crossed his mind late at night, and he suddenly couldn't stand it.

“... And _I_ know that he's running counterfeit oysters out the back, and _you_ know it, but it doesn't matter when-”

“Oh, look, a half-angel!”

There was an empty barrel about the right coincidentally (some might say miraculously) just in the alcove at the corner, and Aziraphale pointed into it excitedly, leaning over the edge to peer at the empty bottom.

“Half-angel? What nonsense have _you_ been getting into?” Crowley asked, startled, and Aziraphale's cheeks flamed as he leaned in closer.

“Oh, Crowley, not a nephil, a gold coin. They stopped making these ages ago, why look, it must have come from one of the mintings back in the old days, when Henry was causing all that trouble. My goodness, how has it found its way to the bottom of this very barrel?”

“No clue, angel, but ah, need a hand? That looks a little-”

“No, no, I have it, I just -”

He had no idea what he _just_ but he leaned deeper into the barrel, grateful for the padding of his clothes as the wooden rim bit into his belly, his hands on the bottom to keep him from tumbling entirely inside even as his feet left the ground.

“Angel, seriously, I've been taller than you since we met, just let me-”

“No, no, I have it, I am sure I do-”

He kicked a little, hoping that perhaps Crowley would get the hint, but the demon only stood solicitously by as Aziraphale scraped at absolutely nothing on the bottom of the barrel.

“Oh. Um, oh dear,” he said suggestively.

“Oh! Is it stuck? Is that the problem? I don't _think_ I stuck any gold coins at the bottom of barrels, but that would explain why – Ah, angel, let me pass you my knife, all right, and you can just pry it up. It's just hide glue holding it down, nothing too-”

“I meant, _I'm_ stuck!” Aziraphale burst out, and then he swallowed hard. “I mean. I think I'm stuck.”

“Ha, Aziraphale, only you. Though, I'm not quite seeing how you did it, are you caught on something? I wouldn't like to tear those pretty clothes if I tugged you out too hard.”

 _Oh, he thinks my clothes are pretty,_ Aziraphale thought, blushing a little, and then he shook himself because if he got this far without going further, he might as well just stay in the barrel, really.

“No, no, I just seem to be stuck. Over this barrel. Helpless.”

“Well, here, just let me see, if I give you some leverage...”

Crowley's hand was warm over his ankle even through his silk stocking, and yes, that rather helped him stay committed to his course.

“What a terrible thing it is that I should be so very helpless, caught over a barrel of all things. Oh dear, whatever shall I do?”

“There is no _possible_ way this could be as dire as you are making this out to be. I'm just going to pull that box over so I can see what's the matter -”

“Whatever _shall I do_ ,” Aziraphale said more insistently, “if some demon were to come along and find me so very helpless? I should never know who did what terrible things to me. I could never report them to Heaven or give any accurate description of them. Oh, woe.”

“Woe,” Crowley repeated, and Aziraphale swallowed hard.

“Yes,” he said faintly. “Woe.”

Crowley's hand, still on his ankle, slacked for a moment, and then it returned, sliding up his calf with a thrilling pressure. It seemed warmer than it had a moment before, and Aziraphale lost his breath as Crowley flicked the pearl buttons at his trouser's cuff open.

“What a terrible thing,” Crowley said softly, “for an angel to be so helpless. Completely vulnerable to anyone who might come by and do anything at all to him.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, probably a little too enthusiastically. “ _Anything_ at all.”

“I mean, not that demons will do _anything._ We've got limits. Anything with blood, anything too messy or mean, that's squarely second or third date stuff, even if the first date's been going on some six thousand years or so.”

Despite the ridiculous position and the fact that this was going nowhere close to his 2000ish year plan, Aziraphale found himself oddly touched at the slight shade of anxiety in Crowley's voice.

“That is interesting information that I will keep in mind,” he said, and then he hesitated.

“And if... and if no demons interested in helpless angels happen by, I suppose I'll simply keep on to that pub they're all talking about and-”

Crowley dragged suddenly sharper fingernails down his calf, sending a shocking wave of pleasure through his body and making him gasp.

“I dunno if you're so very lucky,” Crowley said, his voice shifted to menace. “Careless angel, no idea who's behind you, no idea of what nasty things they might do to you, and absolutely too good to pass up.”

It had never, ever been this good even in his most fevered imagination, and he whimpered as Crowley stepped neatly between Aziraphale's slightly lifted legs, hands coming to cup Aziraphale's hips. He bent over Aziraphale's back, pressing his lean weight against him.

“Look at you, so very precious,” he hissed softly. “Look at you, so very _vulnerable.”_

He wasn't, not him. He never had been, not with his flaming sword and all the ones he had picked up along the way to replace it. He wasn't except now he was, and he groaned as Crowley rocked his narrow hips against his arse, the ridge of his erection already evident through their clothes.

“Can you feel that, angel? That's what you do to me. That's what you've always done to me, and I have _dreamed_ of this.”

He paused.

“Not the barrel. The barrel is a surprise.”

Aziraphale might have burst with embarrassment, but then he heard the steely flicker of Crowley's ridiculous newfangled knife, the blade snapping out of the handle like magic. He had dismissed it as a child's toy when Crowley had shown it to him, but now he could see what a real weapon it was as Crowley traced the sharp tip up along his thigh.

“I shouldn't like to see such a pretty coat shredded,” Crowley murmured, “but you know, those breeches don't look like anything special.”

Aziraphale might have argued but he was too breathless from the way Crowley parted the skirts of his coat, tugging at the fabric of his breeches to pull them up so he could start slicing the high waistband. The rough purr of the fabric giving way was going to _haunt_ him and then Aziraphale moaned as Crowley pushed his shirt and waistcoat up towards his shoulders and bared his lower back.

“Oh that's beautiful,” Crowley sighed in something more like his normal voice. “That's mine.”

The press of a soft and slightly burning kiss to curve just above his arse made Aziraphale squirm, already desperate for more, and that was before Crowley, knife stowed, slid his warm hands up along the skin of his back, raking his nails down with just enough force to make Aziraphale moan. For a while he was lost in the demon's touch, Crowley's lips against his lower back, his nails tracing esoteric patterns on his skin. The blood pounded in his head and places below, and it didn't matter, he could stay like that forever if only Crowley kept touching him, kept fanning his bare skin with his warm breath, kept whispering those soft and lovely things to him.

He only rose out of his haze when Crowley seized both cut ends of his trouser waistband and tore them apart, completing the destruction he had started. Now the cool spring air struck his bare rear, and Aziraphale whined as Crowley slid a finger down between his cheeks and then stilled in surprise.

He bit his lip. It had seemed like _such_ a good idea when he was plotting this earlier, but nothing was going according to plan, and-

“Oh angel, how lovely you are,” Crowley said almost in wonder, and he pressed two fingers into the entrance that Aziraphale earlier slicked and opened.

“Wish I could have seen it,” Crowley whispered, pumping his fingers in faster. “Bet you didn't even use a miracle, not with how careful you can be sometimes. Did you get a leg up on the footstool, bend over a little and arch your back? Did you blush at how tight you are and how ready you were making yourself for me? Did you think about me doing exactly this?”

It was so close to right that Aziraphale nearly cried out, and then he was left breathless as Crowley drew back only to slide a third finger in, spreading him open.

“Oh brilliant little angel, so prepared for the worst, and believe me, the worst is _absolutely_ happening. Thought I was just going to mess about a bit, but if you're going to be so very tempting, I can't help myself, can I?”

Aziraphale caught his breath as Crowley straightened, fingers replaced with the blunt head of his cock pressed against his hole. There was a moment, a single moment, where he wondered what might have been if their first time was different, someplace warm and dark, lit with candles and bedded on silk. Then Crowley started to rock into him, entering him by fractions and so very good that it was perfect, nothing else mattered but being opened and then joined to someone he had wanted for what felt like his entire life.

It was forever and no time at all before Crowley was fully sunk into him, and then Crowley paused.

“This is good, right?” he asked quietly, and Aziraphale was too gone to be anything but honest.

“It has been since Eden,” he said, and Crowley took a stuttering breath, before starting to thrust into him, his motions almost frantic, almost rough.

It was entirely perfect, what Aziraphale had imagined on the long watches and late nights, and he gave himself up to it, opening, only opening, only giving as he had never been allowed to give before, even though that was the only way angels knew how to love. Demons knew something different, and for once, for possibly the first time, they met on some middle ground, some alley in London where it was fine, themselves inside the lies and together with a kind of honesty that went back and forward and crossed back over itself endlessly

“Angel, angel, _brilliant_ angel,” Crowley groaned, and then he was pushing deep into Aziraphale's body one last time, striking just the right spot that Aziraphale was half-certain he had been avoiding up until just now. The pleasure swept over him like a tide, together and a part of how Crowley was pouring into him, hot and perhaps a little painfully if he could even begin to extract the sensations one from the other, but he couldn't. Aziraphale cried out, half-panicked, half-exalted, and for a while, there was only Crowley coiled over him, _in_ him, and the colors behind his eyes.

It was, as he had always suspected it would be, over too soon, and then Crowley was helping him up from the barrel, mending his clothes and cleaning him up with a snap of his fingers. Aziraphale felt dizzy and thrilled and afraid and bright, so wound up he could topple a city and so exhausted he stumbled, leaning against Crowley for a moment before he righted himself.

“Did you get that half-angel, angel?” asked Crowley, his voice only a little shaky.

“Ah, no, I suppose it must have been a trick of the light. Foolish of me, really.”

“No,” said Crowley too fast. “Never.”

“You literally called me foolish just-”

Aziraphale's words cut off as Crowley leaned in and kissed him, hot and fast and utterly undeniable. When Crowley pulled back, there was just the tingle of of restrained venom left on Aziraphale's lips. They stared at each other, seeing too much and never enough.

“Well, angel,” Crowley said. “How about that pub? Bit of tempt-and-thwart?”

“Sounds brilliant,” Aziraphale said, and followed him down the alley.


End file.
